Review: The Scarlet Pimpernel, York Musical Theatre Company, York Theatre Royal, until May 24

11:23am Friday 16th May 2008

YOU will know the book by that Hungarian Baroness, Emma Orczy; you may recall the assorted TV series starring Marius Goring, Anthony Andrews and Richard E Grant, and Leslie Howard in the 1935 film. You will, however, probably not know the 1997 Broadway musical by Frank Wildhorn and Nan Knighton, or its songs in the full-throttle, neck-bulging style du jour of Boublil and Schonberg with the saving grace of "nincompoop" humour.

Here is a lavish York Musical Theatre Company production where the men and women compete for most frightening big wig: the men in candyfloss confections more shocking than Quentin Crisp in his purple pomp; the women in tumbling tresses that give them acute ancient Egyptian cheekbones.

Unlike, say, Joseph And The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat or The Rocky Horror Show, the show is not so well established that it has acquired a cult status for camp excess, but the potential is unquestionably there.

At present, The Scarlet Pimpernel is two parts serious to one part comic, a divide that is reflected in the heart-felt singing of Toni Feetenby's Marguerite St Just, troubled French wife of English dandy Sir Percy Blakeney (John Haigh).

He in turn swings between earnest power-ballad reflection and a broad, light, jaunty leading of his ensemble, where his voice sits most comfortably.

Stilted and tentative sword-fight finale aside, the jousting between Haigh's fearless Blakeney and Richard Bainbridge's execution-lusting Chauvelin is a post-Revolution French-English contretemps to be savoured. Chauvelin is as black in mood as his clothes, and Bainbridge sings with a malevolent power and darkness to match.

The dialogue is not the best - poor Feetenby has to invest all the emotional swell under the stars in the chav mantra of "Oh, my God" on hearing a bout of bad news. Such moments qualify for the more unintentional humour alongside more obvious comical moments such as the Soubrettes singing demurely in dresses with stripes as bold as your grandfather's pyjamas.

Director, musical director and choreographer Paul Laidlaw could have taken a guillotine to the over-long first half, but if the overall tone is as elusive as the Pimpernel, the over-the-top songs, daring adventures, comic tomfoolery and Catherine Chapman's wide-open set designs are a winning combination.

Editor's choice